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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24316513">Fragile</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjmash/pseuds/jjmash'>jjmash</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Scars</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:20:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,745</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24316513</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjmash/pseuds/jjmash</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Clark is forced to consider Bruce's mortality.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>145</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Fragile</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Wrote this while feeling a little angsty because of coronavirus. Admittedly don't know much about DC, but I like these two together :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time Clark saw Bruce’s scars, he had to stop himself from audibly gasping.</p><p>Bruce had stripped off the batsuit as quickly as possible once he and Clark reached the privacy of the Batcave. It hadn’t been an easy mission, and Bruce was too exhausted to care that he was leaving himself vulnerable to Superman’s alien powers. As he threw his bloodied undershirt on the desk–Alfred would pick it up when he came down to stitch Bruce up–Clark caught a brief glimpse of exposed skin. Except the skin barely looked like human flesh, it was so covered in bruises and scar tissue. Bruce pulled on one of the many button-up shirts he kept in the Batcave and turned to face his companion only to find Clark staring at him, the worry clear in his crystal blue eyes.</p><p>“What?” Bruce huffed, already annoyed by whatever concern Clark was about to voice.</p><p>“Your back…” Clark couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. It took a second for Bruce to realize what the alien was referencing. He shrugged somewhat self-consciously as he replied, “It’s not a big deal. Not all of us have impenetrable skin.”</p><p>“I haven’t seen any of the other League members with scars like that. Why are there so many?” Bruce bristled at the incredulousness in Clark’s voice.</p><p>“Most of what I do is hand-to-hand combat. They would have scars too if they were out on the streets every night.” Clark shook his head in disbelief. It seemed impossible that a single human could sustain the number of injuries that Bruce’s scars implied he had and still get out of bed, much less do the things Batman did on a daily basis. And how had no one else noticed? Bruce Wayne the billionaire playboy was frequently photographed half-naked in the back of his limo with various women; someone, surely, would have noticed bruises as big as these. That was when Clark realized that all the scars looked new. There were no faded reminders of injuries from years past on Bruce’s back.</p><p>“Why are all of them fresh?” The question caught Bruce off-guard. “What?”</p><p>“Why do all of your scars look new, Bruce? Where are the old ones?” Bruce looked uncharacteristically self-conscious again as he considered how to respond. Sighing, he settled on the truth. This was Superman; he knew a lie when he heard one.</p><p>“I have them removed or covered up every month or so. Wayne Enterprises employs some of the best doctors in the world to test our medical devices, and a few of them are excellent plastic surgeons.”</p><p>“You have them removed? These are all from the past month?”</p><p>“The past three weeks, actually.” Clark shook his head again and let out a long breath. It was unfathomable that Bruce had suffered so many injuries in the space of just three weeks. He tried to go over the battles they’d been in recently. When would Bruce have gotten this hurt? Sure, they’d had a nasty run-in with one of Arkham’s finest, and then there was that meta-human who had electrocuted everything it touched. Not to mention the Batman’s nightly patrols and training sessions with the rest of the League. The more Clark thought about it, the more plausible it seemed that Bruce actually had been injured multiple times and simply fought through the pain. This was Batman, after all: tough, strong, and impossible to read.</p><p>“You never said anything.”</p><p>“We were in the middle of a mission, what was I supposed to do? Alfred fixes me up afterwards anyway.” The crease over Clark’s brow grew even deeper. “You’re supposed to take care of yourself. You should have told me, I could’ve done something.”</p><p>Batman scoffed at the idea of Superman trying to lighten his load. Didn’t Clark know him better than that? “Look, I get hurt sometimes. It’s part of the job and it’s really not a big deal. I’m used to it.” This, apparently, was the wrong thing to say as it made the concerned expression on Clark’s otherworldly face turn downright stormy.</p><p>“That’s even worse! No one should be used to injuries as awful as these. You have to be more careful out there, Bruce.” Bruce had grunted his disagreement and shaken off the whole conversation, but Clark couldn’t stop thinking about the strip of black-and-blue skin he had seen on Bruce’s torso. It was the first time he had really considered the fact that Bruce was human. Batman wasn’t immortal, and he didn’t have powers. One day he would die, and until then he remained incredibly vulnerable; he was just as fragile as the rest of the human race.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The next time Clark was forced to face Bruce’s mortality was nearly a year later. Once again in the Batcave, Clark was cradling an unconscious Bruce’s head as he gently laid his body down on the cold floor. The League had been battling a vicious, unhinged psychopath with a large arsenal of machine guns when Clark saw a figure cloaked in black fall from the roof he had been perched on. Clark literally heard Bruce’s heart stop. In less than the blink of an eye Superman had caught Batman midair and flown him back to the Batcave, leaving the battle behind. Clark could hear the other League members’ voices crackling through his comms but they faded to background noise as he focused on the barely-breathing man in front of him. There was a gaping hole in Bruce’s chest where a bullet had hit him. It must have been laced with something to get through the suit–Clark had seen even the sharpest of knives bounce off the shiny black armor. It had missed his lungs by mere millimeters, but the poisoned bullet was still lodged dangerously close to Batman’s heart. There was no time for surgeons or sterilization; Bruce was bleeding out and Clark could only think of one solution.</p><p>“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. He quickly cleared off the metal desk with a single swipe of his hand–Bruce was going to be so mad when he found out Clark had gotten his case files all out of order–and lifted his dying companion onto the makeshift operating table. “Oh fuck I hope this works.” Clark wasn’t sure who he was talking to, but he supposed it was more of a general prayer. He took a steadying breath before carefully reaching his hand into Bruce’s open chest. Using his x-ray vision to ensure he wasn’t brushing up against any vital organs, Clark grabbed hold of the bullet (thank god it hadn’t shattered on impact) and slowly removed it from Bruce’s body. Clark breathed a sigh of relief as he placed the bloody piece of metal on the desk and quickly cauterized the open wound using his heat vision. Hastily wiping his hands on his suit, Clark pulled out his cell phone and called the one person who would know what to do in a situation like this.</p><p>“Hello, Alfred?”</p><p> </p><p>Alfred had stitched up Bruce’s wounds and helped Superman get his charge to the master bedroom before cleaning up the copious amounts of blood left in the Batcave. He neatly reorganized Bruce’s case files and then returned upstairs where he found Clark, still in his Superman suit, sitting by Bruce’s bedside in the exact position he had left him in.</p><p>“Can I get you something, Master Clark?” Clark practically jumped in surprise at Alfred’s question despite his superhuman hearing abilities.</p><p>“No, thanks Alfred. Sorry I had to call you–I know Bruce gave you the week off.”</p><p>“Naturally.” Of course Clark should have called him. Vacation or not, Alfred was still Bruce’s family. Although seeing how concerned the Kryptonian was over his charge, Alfred wasn’t sure he was entirely alone in that role anymore. When Bruce woke up almost an entire day later, Clark was still there, albeit now in his civilian clothes rather than the suit. Alfred briefly listened to the two men banter from his position in the doorway.</p><p>“What are you doing here? God, I tell you my real identity and now it’s like you never go away.”</p><p>“You told me your secret identity? I had to pry it out of you! Pulling teeth would have been easier!”</p><p>Alfred could just make out the identical smiles on the men’s faces as he closed the door on them.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Two years later, Clark woke with a start. He’d had a nightmare. Like anyone else, Superman occasionally had a bad dream, but recently he’d been having a string of particularly nasty ones. Each nightmare was different, but they all ended in the same way: Clark, helpless, watching Bruce die. In this one Batman had fallen off a cliff into a dark black pit, and when Clark had tried to fly down to save him he couldn’t find the bottom. Clark sighed as he slowly came back to reality and tried to reassure himself that it was just a dream.</p><p>“Another one?” Clark turned on his side to face the man next to him and nodded into his pillow. Bruce laid a hand on Clark’s cheek.</p><p>“It’s not real. I’m here.”</p><p>“I know,” said Clark, “but it could have been real.”</p><p>Bruce shook his head in disagreement. “I’m not that easy to kill, you know.”</p><p>“I can’t stop thinking about it, though. I’ve seen you almost die more than once Bruce, and every time has felt like the end of the world. I can’t focus when I know you’re in danger.”</p><p>Bruce frowned slightly. “I feel similarly, but I considered that before we started this. The positives outweigh the negative effect on our objectivity in battle.”</p><p>“It’s not that, Bruce. It’s that one day you might not make it home. And then what am I going to do? I’m just supposed to live without you?”</p><p>Bruce smiled a little sadly. “Yes, Clark. You’d be okay.”</p><p>Clark raked a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure that I would be, Bruce. The idea of losing you, of not being able to save you…”</p><p>Bruce couldn’t offer any real reassurances; he wouldn’t make promises he couldn’t keep. “We just have to make the most of this now, then. I can’t believe it took us so long.”</p><p>Clark laughed lightly. “We were pretty dense. At least we figured it out eventually.” Bruce pressed his forehead to Clark’s and wrapped his arms tighter around the other man.</p><p>“Thank god we did.”</p>
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